


A Siren's Spell

by cydian_sonor, monkeysrool75



Series: DoroPetra Week 2020 [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Trojan War Setting (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), F/F, Sirens, The Odyssey References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydian_sonor/pseuds/cydian_sonor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysrool75/pseuds/monkeysrool75
Summary: Doropetra Week Day 5Bravery“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”Ancient Greece/Trojan War AU~With the Dagdan war finally coming to an end, the great warrior Petra and the rest of her shipmates make the voyage home.  When their journey takes them by the Siren's island they're sure to meet their doom.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Series: DoroPetra Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654231
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28
Collections: Doropetra Week 2020





	A Siren's Spell

**Author's Note:**

> Ok considering we wrote this one yesterday and today I think this'll be the last one we get done on time....  
> I had a lot of fun with this one (I love monster girls ;_;)

At last, the war was over. The conflict in Dagda had dragged on for years, straining the people of Brigid to their absolute limits. Every young and able-bodied warrior had been shipped across the sea from their homeland to take up arms and aid the Brigidians in their effort to take the Dagdan capital and end the struggle for good. But the city’s high walls were almost impenetrable, and the task had seemed more impossible each day—until, finally, there had been a breakthrough.  
  
Petra had been among that group of brave warriors who had volunteered for the risky invasion mission -- which had involved, of all things, sneaking into the city inside a massive wooden horse, a symbol of Dagdan pride. A brilliant Brigidian tactician had organized this outlandish plan: the Dagdans would accept it as a gift, through which the Brigidians would appear to surrender. But when they wheeled it into the city, past the near-impregnable walls, the warriors hidden within would emerge, acting out not a surrender but one final, last-ditch effort to win.  
  
Petra had volunteered for the mission mainly because she was sick of the war and she wanted to see it end. For four years she had been tirelessly fighting in Dagda, toiling away to continue a siege that was getting absolutely nowhere. She had missed her homeland: the forests, the beaches, the temples to the spirits. So she’d sworn to do her part in whatever strategy could bring the long-winded war to an end. Only then would she get to go home.  
  
The plan had worked. The Dagdans, in their vanity, had accepted the horse, and they’d been sitting ducks when the Brigidian warriors had emerged. They’d slain the guards, overtaken the gates of the wall, and opened them up to let the full Brigidian force invade. In one last brutal struggle, they’d overtaken the capital. The war was won.  
  
So much blood had fallen onto Petra’s hands that day. As a warrior of Brigid, she was no stranger to killing; to take the lives of her enemies was her responsibility and pride. But with the conflict finally over, she couldn’t help but look back on all of those she’d slain. How many of her slain enemies had families, loved ones, who now grieved? What had this war even been about? What was accomplished now that it had ended?  
  
Petra sighed, looking out at the sun setting over the ocean. Brigidian troops were loading their belongings and spoils from the city onto ships docked left and right on the coast, preparing for the voyage back to their homeland across the sea. Tomorrow they would embark, and after all they’d been through, they would be on their way home.  
  
“Beannachtaí, Petra!” a familiar voice called out, hailing her in her native tongue. Petra turned around to see Kheira, a female warrior and one of her most trusted companions, walking toward the nearest ship. A heavy-looking burlap bag was slung over one of her arms, filled with shining gold and silver ingots.  
  
“Dia dhuit, Kheira,” Petra replied, her eyes catching on the loot. “That’s a considerable amount of shiny metal there.” Through the years on foreign soil, it had always comforted her to speak freely in Brigidian to her companions.  
  
“It’s more than I’ve ever seen!” Kheira replied with a laugh. Then her expression fell flat when she realized Petra wasn’t sharing in her joy. “Why so glum, Petra? Not going to help yourself to any of the spoils from the city?”  
  
“I don’t see the use for trinkets like that,” Petra said solemnly. “I just want to go home. Right now, I was thinking about the years I’ve lost out here.”  
  
“I... don’t follow,” Kheira said, cocking her head.  
  
“I’m talking about the years of my youth that I had to spend fighting this silly war,” Petra explained. “Years I should have spent learning to enjoy the pleasures of life. Learning about the world, enjoying time with my companions... falling in love.”  
  
“I see,” Kheira said. “But Petra, you have done amazing things here. You have grown into a proud and capable warrior. Why, you took part in the horse mission! I am sure that history will remember your valorous deeds in this war.”  
  
Petra shook her head. “That doesn’t matter when I will look back on these times as nothing but wasted years.”  
  
Kheira gave a faint smile, trying to enliven her companion. “I know this hasn’t been the easiest for any of us. But... if you want to cheer up a little, my battalion’s throwing a celebration tonight outside our ship. We looted a ton of Dagdan ale from the city, and we’ll be roasting an entire pig, too! Maybe you’d be happier if you came along. You’d be like a hero to them!”  
  
Petra tried feebly to reciprocate her friend’s smile. “Maybe I will, Kheira. I’ll think about it.”  
  
“Hope to see you there!” Kheira said as she continued on her way. Petra sighed, looking back out over the ocean and wishing she had any desire to celebrate this victory.  
  


፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Petra didn’t go to the celebratory pig-roast. She didn’t even gain as much peace as she’d hoped to when she retreated to her tent to sleep. She tossed and turned, unable to sleep peacefully. Outside, fires roared and warriors shouted, reveling in their victory. Petra wanted no part of it.

When morning came, she was the first aboard her battalion’s ship. Slowly, surely, the rest of the crew made their way on board, taking up the oars and readying the sails. A strong tailwind was blowing, sure to send them well on their way for the first day of the voyage. Petra was eager; soon, they would be on their way home.

The day could not have been better for sailing. The sky was clear, the sea was calm, and the Brigidians’ spirits were high. Petra was taking a break from her shift manning one of the ship’s oars, sipping cordial from a bottle, when a familiar, booming voice echoed through the hull of the ship.

“Tabhair aird, my companions!” bellowed Ardal, the captain of the vessel, as he stepped down from the deck. “Listen close! The waters we now approach are dangerous, so we must take precautions!”

“What kind of danger do you mean?” one man called back. “There’s no sign of a storm brewing, is there?”

“Not a storm,” Captain Ardal replied. “An island of great danger. The fastest way home takes us right past the home of the sirens.”

That caught Petra’s attention. Her brow furrowed, and she wondered if she’d heard the captain right. Sirens were only a myth—weren’t they?

“Those creatures aren’t real!” one sailor piped up, evidently feeling the same as Petra.

“But they are,” Ardal shot back. “My grandfather warned me of the island we now approach. An expedition to find new waters for fishing took his ship to this cursed place, and the sirens’ song drew every sailor off the docks. They all jumped to their doom, save for him -- he plugged his ears with cotton and paddled away in a rowboat before the ship crashed into the rocks.”

The man from before gave a caustic laugh. “That’s a tall tale if I’ve ever heard one, Captain!” he spat. “Escaped in a rowboat, did he? What, did he paddle all the way back to Brigid?”

“To Dagda, in fact,” Ardal said. “As for the woman who helped him get home, that’s a story for another day. Now, listen, all of you! When we draw near those waters, make sure your ears are plugged! You don’t want to hear one note of the sirens’ song, or your doom will meet you in the water!”

His warning delivered, the captain hurried back up the steps to the dock. Petra glanced around as the oarsmen exchanged looks, some incredulous, some terrified, some looking ready to burst into laughter.

“You won’t see me plugging my ears!” one said. “What a waste of time!”

“Honestly, I’d fancy to hear that song,” another proposed. “I’m sure I could resist it. All I’d have to do is stop myself from jumping ship. Sounds easy enough, doesn’t it? And think of the stories I’d bring back to Brigid after hearing that with my own ears!”

A sense of impending dread was beginning to rise up in Petra. Stepping forward, she rose her voice: “I think the lot of you ought to do as the captain says.”

There was a momentary silence. It broke when the nearest oarsman burst into acerbic laughter. “Listen to Ardal?! That old sea dog’s just trying to rile us up with spooky stories about sea-monsters. Can’t your warrior’s wit tell that?”

At that, the rabble rose again, most of them laughing—some at Ardal, some at Petra. She gritted her teeth.

“Maybe he is,” she said. “But what if he’s not?”

But none cared what she said anymore. The oarsman who’d first shot her down stood up, reaching toward Petra. “Pass me that cordial,” he snapped. “And take my oar for a while. I’m beat.”

For the next ten minutes, Petra rowed, uneasiness growing within her all the while. Though she couldn’t see the sea ahead of her, she knew they were growing closer to the island Ardal had warned them of—the island that all her companions had brushed off as insignificant. She tried to calm herself; perhaps she was wrong to give any credence to tall tales like that. Perhaps everyone else down here manning the oars was right, and there was nothing to worry about.

That was when an angelic note graced her ears.

It had come from outside the ship, and its tone was muffled by the thick wooden hull, but Petra still knew that it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. Slowly, she paused her rowing, tilting her head in an effort to hear it better. It was... not a voice, but a chorus of voices, beautiful feminine sopranos all singing together.

Gradually, everyone in the hull rose up, leaving their oars to rest. A few murmured words to one another, but none seemed to register each other’s voices; all that mattered was the beautiful song that rang outside. Some sailors were already clambering toward the stairs, eager to rise to the deck and see just who, or what, was singing that beautiful song.

What was singing…

Suddenly, Petra shook out of her stupor, a coherent thought rising to the front of her mind. Sirens! This was exactly what Ardal had warned them all about, and the rest of her moronic crew had let that warning go in one ear and out the other; they were running straight into a trap!

Petra took action while she could. She plugged both ears with her fingers, blocking the song until she could no longer hear it. Steadily, her thoughts became clear again. She glanced frantically about, her thoughts racing; what could she do? No one was manning the oars; if the sailors didn’t come back…

“Plug your ears!” she yelled. “Ardal wasn’t lying! Those voices are calling you to your deaths!”

But not a single person paid her any mind. The last of the oarsmen were disappearing up the stairs. She was alone beneath the decks.

“Come back!” she belted, running after her comrades in desperation. “Man your oars!” But it was futile. Adrenaline pumping, she hurried up the stairs, fingers lodged firmly in her ears all the while. When she reached the deck, the sight she took in was one of pure horror. All around her, warriors she’d fought alongside in Dagda—warriors she’d trusted and counted on for four long years—were leaping off the ship, crashing down into the churning waters below. There was something moving underneath that water; Petra couldn’t see what it was, but she didn’t need to waste any guesses.

She glanced toward the mast and saw the one other man who’d been wise enough to plug his ears: Captain Ardal. He was shouting to his crew, but none heard him any more than they’d heard Petra. For a moment, she met the captain’s eyes, and they exchanged looks of desperation—what would they do?!

Then there came a massive crash, shaking the deck and knocking Petra off her feet. The ship had smashed into a rock.  
Petra’s heart was beating out of her chest. It was all she could do to keep her ears plugged as she rose to her knees, looking around in horror as the hull splintered. The ship’s whole bow had been crushed, and the deck was collapsing fast as the compartments below filled up with water. She felt herself rolling backward; the vessel had begun to tilt over on its way toward the bottom of the sea. Unable to stop herself, Petra yelled out as she tumbled over the edge and crashed into the surf.

All was silent under the water. She opened her eyes, fighting past the sting of the saltwater to watch the ship splintering under the waves. She fought hard with her arms, trying desperately to swim toward the surface for air…

...but then something grabbed her.

Petra shrieked—a big mistake considering she was underwater. A mouthful of saltwater made its way unwelcomely into her lungs, and a jolt of fear overtook her as she realized this was the end. She was drowning, unable to fight against whatever was dragging her down into the deep, further and further from the light she was flailing her arms toward.

This is how I go, she thought somberly. She tried desperately to think about the home she’d never see again, but she couldn’t seem to resolve the image; everything was blurry in her mind. A bleary blackness overtook her, and just as her reality slipped away she could have sworn she felt something soft on her lips.

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Dorothea swam through the ocean waters as fast as her tail could take her. As soon as she’d heard the chorus of her so-called sisters, she’d known another ship of unlucky sailors was doomed.

Not this time, she thought urgently as she sped through the water. Not if I can help it.

She coasted through the reefs that bordered the shore of the sirens’ island, knowing the doom these rocky formations would spell for the ship up above. Sure enough, she arrived just in time to see the vessel crash; tiny splinters of fractured wood began to rain down into the water. She jetted up toward the surface and broke through the surf just in time to see a blur of fuchsia falling down from the wreckage.

Ducking back under the water, Dorothea watched the unfortunate sailor — a girl — sink deeper below. She knew she’d have to act fast before another siren with crueler intentions got to her first. The female figure was frantically thrashing about in the water when Dorothea reached out and grabbed her. She fought back only for a few moments before going limp.

Damn it all, Dorothea thought as she pressed her lips against the girl in her arms, replacing the water in her lungs with what air she could while keeping enough for herself. She swam as quickly as she could back to her secluded cavern. Just hold on for a little bit longer.

When she surfaced from the underwater entrance to her cave, Dorothea crawled onto the land and leaned the girl she’d brought with her against the rocky wall. She pressed her ear to the girl’s chest.

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” she whispered to herself when she heard the girl’s heartbeat and shallow, but steady breathing. She positioned herself against the wall opposite her rescuee; with the urgency of saving the sailor’s life behind her, the siren took the opportunity to size her up for the first time. Dorothea couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the girl was. The way her reddish-purple hair cascaded down her shoulders, the curious marks scattered across her body, the way she stirred.

Wait—stirred?

The girl gasped as her eyes shot open. She screamed, trying her best to back away into the wall behind her, her eyes never leaving the mermaid in front of her.

“Cailleach!” she cried. “Éalaigh uaim, a ollphéist!”

“Wait!” Dorothea cried, her mind racing; would this foreign sailor even understand her? “It’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you!”

For a moment, the human girl’s eyes narrowed, her mind working fervently to process what she’d heard. Then she spoke.

“How am I... supposed to be having trust in you? Your people have just been making a wreck of my ship and murdering my companions!” Petra’s grasp of the foreign tongue was tenuous, but she was grateful she could speak it at all. Long ago she’d studied Fódlish in her free time, and for the first time ever, she was thankful she had.

Dorothea’s face formed an expression of forlorn. “We may be the same species,” she explained, “but those evil creatures are not my people. I can’t stand what they do… what our voices do to people.”

Momentarily relieved, yet still on edge, Petra studied the creature across the cavern. She shouldn’t believe her — everything she’d heard about sirens made them out to be manipulative creatures, and what she’d seen with her own eyes today corroborated that. Yet the one here with her seemed to be honest; her eyes said so. After all, if the siren had wanted to hurt her, she would have already done so, wouldn’t she?

“I… see,” muttered Petra, letting out a deep breath. “If I may be trusting you… then may I be asking what I can be calling you?”

“Dorothea,” the siren answered, giving one of the most beautiful smiles the warrior had ever seen. In fact, now that Petra realized it, her smile alone wasn’t all about her that was beautiful — looking at her now, everything about her was beautiful. The way her wet brunette locks hugged her dainty face, the gleam of her emerald eyes, her scarlet tail covered in shining scales, her breasts — wait! Petra’s face flushed with embarrassment as she realized the siren didn’t have anything covering her upper half. She quickly averted her gaze.

“I am being called Petra,” she mumbled.

“Well then, Petra.” Hearing her name from Dorothea’s lips only caused her blush to intensify. “I’m more than content to let you rest here until you have your strength back, and then I’ll get you home. Would that suit you?”

“Y-yes,” Petra answered.

Dorothea tilted her head, a curious expression on her face. “Where exactly do you come from, Petra?”

“Brigid is being my home,” Petra stated.

“Brigid,” Dorothea repeated, as if testing out the sound of the name. “I’ve heard tell of that place. The siren who raised me once met a man of Brigid. She told me many stories about him when I was young. It’s far away from here, is it not?”

Petra nodded. “It is being all the way across the ocean. I was being on my way home from Dagda when our ship… my companions… we were... ”

“What brought you to Dagda?” Dorothea asked, hoping to quell Petra’s sorrow by keeping her busy with questions.

“The people of Brigid were waging war against Dagda,” she explained somberly. “I never had understanding of why we had such anger at each other. The officials of my country were ordering that all who had youth and strength must be boarding a ship and sailing to Dagda to be fighting… and killing.”

Dorothea’s eyes shone with sympathy. “You never wanted any part of that, did you, Petra?”

“I had honor in serving my homeland,” Petra replied. “But I was never taking pleasure in the lives I was taking. In Brigid, I was often hunting. At first, I was thinking I could be using my skill as a hunter to have success as a warrior. But I was discovering with much quickness that the killing of people is not feeling at all like the killing of wild game.”

“I’m truly sorry you had to do that, Petra,” Dorothea said softly. “I feel the same about taking lives… human lives. Many of my people take great pride in those they kill and consume. Before I split from my sisters, many of them spoke proudly of their way of life. Their ability to charm, seduce, and lure sailors to their deaths… it was like a badge of honor to them. They would judge one another for how well they could do it.”

“Your sisters are sounding much like many of my fellow warriors,” muttered Petra. “Many of them were praising me often, but it was never being for what was making me a person of goodness… my kindness, my loyalty, my love of life. It was only being for my skill in killing.” She shook her head gently. “Still… I was never wanting to be watching my comrades die.”

Dorothea sighed wistfully. “Petra, I truly wish there’d been something I could have done to save them.”

“Do not have regret,” Petra muttered. “They had much foolishness. They could have been avoiding their deaths if they had been listening to our captain. As for you… you were doing something of much value, Dorothea.” The Brigidian warrior smiled faintly. “You were rescuing me.”

Dorothea laughed softly, as though it hardly mattered. “It was the least I could-”

“No,” Petra interrupted. “Do not be counting it out. You are a person of much goodness, Dorothea, even if you are being a siren. You have my gratitude.”

Now the siren couldn’t help but return her rescuee’s smile. “Thank you, Petra.”

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Petra remained in the kind siren’s cave for the rest of that day. Dorothea made a short trip back into the water to go fishing for the two of them; Petra was impressed by how quickly the scarlet-tailed siren returned with a catch plentiful enough to feed the two of them. An awkward conversation followed, however, when Petra explained that humans, unlike sirens, did not consume their food raw. But Dorothea didn’t need to worry about solving the issue; Petra’s skills as a huntress stepped in, and she was able to start a small fire with some sticks she found toward the mouth of the cave.

As Petra finished up the last of her meal, she found herself staring at Dorothea’s tail. Perhaps it was just because the alternative was staring at her bare breasts, but nonetheless, Petra found herself captivated by the brilliant red scales and gossamer fins that made up the siren’s lower end.

Before long, Dorothea caught her staring. “Admiring my tail?” she said with a smirk.

Petra flushed. “I… cannot be helping it,” she stammered. “I have sorriness.”

Dorothea laughed. “Oh, it’s no worry. Look all you like. After all, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been admiring your legs, too. It must be nice, being able to walk that far up the cave. I wouldn’t have been able to retrieve those sticks and build that fire on my own.”

“And I would not have been retrieving those fish with such quickness,” Petra said. She cocked her head, watching as Dorothea flicked her caudal fin lazily up and down. “I must be admitting something,” the Brigidian said. “When I was first seeing you, it was taking me by surprise that you were being… part fish.”

Dorothea scoffed, a small blush forming on her face. “Fish?! I’m no fish, mind you! I breathe air just like you do! We sirens may be good at holding our breath, but we don’t have gills to speak of!”

“O-oh,” stuttered Petra. “I have sorriness. I was not meaning to-”

“Relax,” said Dorothea calmly, waving a hand in the air. “I’m only joking.”

“I… have understanding,” Petra muttered. “It is just… well, in some of the legends I was hearing, the sirens were not… looking like you. Some in Brigid have been saying they are partly birds. That they are having wings and talons like hawks.”

Dorothea laughed. “The people of Brigid must have us confused for the harpies that live on the volcanic islands out west. All those morons do is screech. We sirens take pride in our songs.” She glanced away wistfully. “Or… I would, if our songs didn’t cause so much death.” There was a momentary silence.

“I was thinking something,” Petra spoke up. “Dorothea, I have much curiosity about your song. On my ship, I was hearing just a little of the song of your sisters, but I was plugging my ears just in time to be protecting myself. I have had much curiosity since then about… what it might have been sounding like if I had been listening for any longer.”

Dorothea shook her head. “You did the right thing, Petra. If you’d heard that song, it would have been the last thing you ever heard. Nothing is worth that.”

“But, Dorothea!” Petra insisted. “If you are being a good siren… a siren who is not wishing to be trapping and eating me… you could be singing for me! I would be trusting that you would not want to be doing any harm to me while I was hearing the song.”

A stern expression fell over the siren’s face. “Petra, it isn’t that simple. My song… if you heard just a little bit of it, you would fall under a spell so deep and powerful that you might not ever be the same. Our songs… do things to people’s minds, Petra. Even if no ill came to you while you were in the trance, your thoughts and desires could be permanently warped after you came out of it. You could live out the rest of your days in deep longing to hear the song again. All other motivations would fall away, and the rest of your people would think you a madwoman.”

“I am seeing so,” murmured Petra. “But… is that really being so bad if the song has the most beauty and splendor of anything I have ever been hearing?”

Dorothea’s face became grave. “Petra, you must promise me this. Never, ever ask me to sing for you. The song is nothing you want to hear. Do you understand?”

Petra hung her head for a moment, then looked back up into the siren’s eyes and nodded. “I have understanding, Dorothea. Be forgiving me for asking something of such foolishness.”

But Dorothea shook her head. “It’s alright, Petra. Curiosity isn’t a crime. And… after all…” Her expression became somber. “I greatly miss singing.”

“You have not been singing for a time of much length?”

“Indeed. Why would I, when my song can be the reason for another’s madness… or worse, their doom?” Dorothea gazed wistfully into the water of the pool. “But I used to love singing. In my younger years, I would sing day and night, as if my voice were a gift to the world. I was so naive, thinking of it that way. Manuela made me realize how wrong I was.”

“Manuela?” Petra asked.

“The siren who took me in,” Dorothea explained. “I believe I mentioned her earlier. Manuela was like a mother to me. She felt just the same as I did — she couldn’t stand what she was.” She paused for a moment. “And she had the most beautiful voice of any siren I have ever known.”

“Where is Manuela being now?” Petra asked.

“She vanished some time ago,” Dorothea said somberly. “She left to find a new home, some other island far, far away from the home of the cruel sirens she couldn’t stand. She had always told me that was her plan — to start anew and found a colony where sirens helped sailors rather than luring them to their deaths. She asked me many times to come along with her. But I was a coward. I was too scared to rise up to that responsibility. This island… as much as I hate it, it’s been my home for my whole life. The weather is gentle, and the reefs nourish me with fish. To leave that safety behind and venture out into the endless blue, not knowing what I’d find out there, if anything at all… the thought of it terrifies me.” The siren let out a sigh. “For all I know, Manuela could be dead now.”

“You must be missing her greatly,” Petra said softly.

“Of course,” Dorothea murmured. “Choosing between her and my home was not an easy decision. I often think I chose wrongly, but…”

“Do not have regret,” said Petra. “It is the cause of much sadness, to be leaving home. I have not been seeing mine in four years.”

The siren gave a faint smile. “Petra, I’m going to make sure you see it again. Whatever I can do to help you get home, I will. Manuela would never have hesitated to do the same.”

“I have such gratitude, Dorothea,” Petra replied, returning her smile warmly.

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Petra’s mind was racing as she wandered the depths of the cavern she’d called home for the past few days. By now, she was feeling well enough to go home, and as much as she wanted to see the shores of Brigid once again, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Dorothea she was ready to go. She’d only known her for a few days, yet Petra already couldn’t imagine her life without the beautiful mermaid.

It’s odd, she thought. She hasn’t attempted to sing for me, yet she’s all that’s on my mind. She was torn. She couldn’t deny the feelings building in her heart, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it was all because of Dorothea’s charm as a siren.

No—it wouldn’t be fair to Dorothea to say Petra had been falling in love with her because of what she was. Petra knew with all her heart that she was falling for who she was. In Brigid, people believed in soulmates—one person the spirits would guide you to, the one you were destined to spend your life with—and Petra was certain that Dorothea was the one for her.

But her mind ground to a halt when she heard something. It was soft, but clear as day. It was the most beautiful melody she’d ever heard.

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

Dorothea smiled as she cut the fish she’d caught, just as Petra had taught her. She seemed to be doing that a lot recently: smiling. Her sailor was just so sweet to her, it was hard not to. Petra made her heart soar. She hadn’t been this happy in years — since she’d split from her sisters, since Manuela had left. She was going to miss her new companion when she finally had to send her home, but she chose not to dwell on that. Petra was still regaining her strength, so she still had some time with the human girl, and she planned on savoring every moment.

Just then she heard footsteps approaching—a sound she still wasn’t entirely used to. She felt Petra’s hand grab her shoulder from behind and turn her around. Before she could react, the sailor’s lips were pressed against her own. Dorothea melted into the loving touch, but only then realized it: in her blind happiness she’d been mindlessly humming! She pushed Petra off of her and hid her face.

“Oh Goddess, I’m so sorry, Petra!” she cried. “What have I done...”

“Mo grá,” Petra spoke. “I was being under your spell long before you had been singing.”

“No, Petra, you’re just saying that because of my song. Goddess, I’m a monster…”

But as Dorothea lamented her ignorance, she realized Petra’s face showed no signs of mindless subservience. As the Brigidian beauty smiled back at her, she looked as lucid and rational as she’d ever been. How could this be?

“Do not be saying such things about yourself,” Petra scolded. “I am promising you, this is not being the work of some magic of much malevolence. Dorothea, these are being my true feelings.”

“N-no…” Dorothea muttered, peeking out of her hands to see Petra’s beautiful smiling face. “That doesn’t make sense. A siren’s song can only fail to affect a human if...” The mermaid felt her face turn the same shade of red as her tail when she made the realization of her own words. “...that human is already in love with them.”

Dorothea looked deep into Petra’s eyes, and she knew with certainty that the sailor was under no kind of spell. She’d kissed Dorothea of her own free will. The thought of that sent the siren’s heart soaring once again. To think that she—a monster born to lure unlucky travelers to their doom—could have someone truly fall in love with her, not with her song! It was too good to be true.

Dorothea reached out and pulled Petra back in for another kiss. This time they held nothing back; there was no more apprehension, no more uncertainty. Petra’s tongue traced the outside of Dorothea’s lips, asking for permission to deepen their kiss, and the mermaid responded by letting her mouth fall slightly open. Their tongues danced as they enjoyed the taste of one another. Time seemed to stand still for the two in the cave as they shared their precious moment together.

Dorothea was the first to pull away. “No,” she muttered regretfully, reality slowly coming back to her with all its worries and concerns. “We can’t do this.”

Petra shook her head, looking her newfound lover in the eyes. “I don’t have understanding…”

“Petra, we’re from different worlds,” the siren explained. “If you stay here on this island, you’ll never be safe. My sisters could find you, and I can’t bear to think about what would happen then.”

“Then I will not be staying,” the human stated. “I am having a different proposition.” She stared longingly into the mermaid’s eyes. “Will you be coming to Brigid with me?”

“Huh?” Dorothea said. She hadn’t even considered that.

“I am wishing for you to be seeing my homeland,” Petra said with a smile.

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” Dorothea asked. Surely there would be issues with a siren just swimming up to the shores of Brigid…

“Dorothea, mo mhaighdean mhara álainn.” Love beamed through her eyes. “When it is coming to matters of the heart, I am knowing with all of my soul what is right.”

“Oh my...” The siren felt her heart beating out of her chest. The last time she’d been given the choice to leave, she’d been too scared, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake this time. “I’d love to, Petra. I’d like nothing more than to see Brigid with you.”

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

As Petra spent one last night in Dorothea’s cavern, she couldn’t help but think back to that night in her tent on the shores of Dagda—and, for all its similarities, how different this night felt. Tomorrow she would be going home—for real this time. She would not only see Brigid again, but she would return accompanied by the newfound love of her life.

She had to admit it: she was looking forward to this voyage much more than the first one.

The Brigidian sailor and her siren lover woke up with the sun. There were preparations to be made; Dorothea dove into the sea to catch a journey’s worth of fish, while Petra ventured the other way through the cave until she’d made it to the mouth and the tropical jungle beyond. There, she gathered sturdy bamboo shoots, broad leaves, and thick grass fibers: everything they would need to build a makeshift vessel.

Petra spent the day’s early hours lashing her boat together on the beach, while Dorothea watched from the waves, admiring the Brigidian’s resourcefulness. Then, just as noon hit, they were ready to depart. With Petra sitting in the boat, Dorothea positioned herself behind it in the water, gripped the bamboo frame tightly with both arms, and used her mighty tail to propel it forward into the wide-open ocean.

This was the way they traveled, and their voyage was a breeze. Dorothea had unbelievable speed and stamina in the water, so they traveled at a clip that would rival any sailing ship, if not even faster. They found islands to camp on at night, building fires and roasting fish, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms on soft, sandy beaches. Then, after almost a week’s journey, they saw the peaks of the Brigid archipelago peeking over the horizon.

Momentarily, Dorothea and Petra parted ways, exchanging a loving kiss before the inevitable night they would not see one another. Petra had duties to fulfill, after all—rejoining her people, explaining what had happened. As she stepped out of the tiny boat and worked her way up the beach, she could already see fires roaring and hear drums beating as the sun set; the festivities of Brigid’s victory were already well under way.

For the first time, Petra was fully content to take joy in the revelry. The lives she’d taken and the pain she’d felt in Dagda felt far behind her now; ahead of her was a new life in the home she belonged, with the company of her soulmate. She danced around fires, ate delicious roasted food, and drank Brigidian cordial happily.

It wasn’t long before she ran into Kheira, who ran up to embrace her the moment they met eyes. Petra greeted her friend with joy in her heart. Kheira had thought Petra to be dead, as most of the other ships’ crews had; when the ship had failed to return, everyone had naturally assumed the worst. But Petra was alive, and proud to be; she thrilled Kheira with the story of the shipwreck and the sirens, but didn’t find it in her just yet to share the truth of the love she’d found. That would come later.

“That reminds me,” Kheira suddenly exclaimed in her native tongue. “There’s someone here who’d be thrilled to find you alive.”

Petra cocked her head. “Someone? Who would that be?”

Kheira smiled. “Follow me.”

She led Petra toward a solitary hut far away from the blazing fires of the celebration. As she pulled the bead screen away from the doorway, Petra gasped—inside the hut, revealed by the dim light of a flickering torch, was Captain Ardal himself, alive and well.

The grizzled man’s eyes lit up as he saw Petra in his doorway. “By the spirits!” he bellowed. “Petra MacNeary, alive?! I was so worried you’d perished after you fell off the ship!”

“I thought you were dead, too!” said Petra incredulously. “I saw you on the deck as the ship hit the rocks! How in the world did you survive?!”

Ardal chuckled softly. “It’s one hell of a story. When I saw you slip off the boat—my last comrade lost to the sea—my heart was crushed, but my will was still strong. I knew what I had to do to survive. Before the splintered bow sank beneath the water, I leapt onto one of the rocky crags and held on for dear life. The sirens’ song was over, but I knew the lot of them were down below the waves, feasting on my companions. I could not slip beneath that water, or I would die. So I hung on as long as my strength would let me. Then night came. I had been clinging to that cursed rock for the better part of the day, and my arms and legs were close to giving out. I reasoned that the beasts were no longer in the water, so I slipped in, hoping to swim away to some other place I could be safe... but the minute I dove beneath the waves, a siren was there, waiting to greet me.”

“Oh, no!” Petra exclaimed. “What did you do then?”

“I saw my life flash before me,” Ardal said. “But, by the spirits, the creature had other plans for me. She wrapped me in her arms and sped through the water, carrying me off. Every time I came close to running out of air, she would press her lips to mine and lend me hers. We came at last to an empty beach surrounded by rocky cliffs, and as I sat up on the shore, I got a look at her, and I swear, she was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. Light brown hair, chestnut eyes, shining sapphire tail. She watched over me until I had my strength back, and then she saw to it that I got home safe. Her name...” The captain looked away, smiling at the pleasant memory. “...was Manuela.”

Petra gasped. “Manuela?! She’s alive! She saved you!”

Ardal cocked his head. “You’re telling me you know her? Did she help you, too?”

“N-no,” Petra stammered, a smile overtaking her. “But I met someone else who knew her once. Another siren—a helpful one, who saved my life. Her name was Dorothea. By the spirits, she’ll be so happy to hear Manuela’s alive.”

“This Dorothea is here with you?” said the captain, raising an eyebrow.

“Y-yes. Just off shore. And... she’s planning on staying.”

Ardal grinned. “So’s Manuela. How would you fancy it, Petra, if all of us met?”

Petra felt so happy that she thought she might cry. “Ardal... that would make my heart sing.”

፠፠፠፠፠፠፠

The sun was rising over the sea, heralding a new day. On the Brigidian beach, Ardal was looking out over the water, a bottle of Brigidian cordial in hand. Just yards ahead, Kheira sat on a rock by the shore. In the surf beyond, three more women relaxed together—two with fish tails, and one without.

“I still haven’t told the old captain,” muttered Manuela smugly, “but I was the one who saved his grandpa, too. The minute he told me the story, I couldn’t believe my ears. I just knew he was describing Cormac. Ah, that seems like forever ago... perhaps he’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“Manuela,” Dorothea said, a brilliant smile stretched across her face. “I’m so glad you’re alright. There’s so much I’ve wanted to share with you since you left.”

“Like this fine young human you’ve taken such a fancy to?” the older mermaid teased, flicking her cobalt-blue tail out of the water.

Petra waded closer, allowing Dorothea to move in and wrap an arm around her. They nuzzled their cheeks affectionately, and Manuela smiled, pleased to see them so happy together.

“You know,” Manuela said. “I’m really liking this Brigid place. The humans here are so close with the sea. Perhaps this archipelago would be the perfect place to finally start up new relations with humans... as long as you’re in, Dorothea.”

Dorothea smiled. “Of course I am.”

“As am I,” Petra chimed in.

They heard a splash behind them. All three turned to see Kheira wading toward them in the water.

“Ah, so you have been deciding to join us!” Petra said. “The water has much warmth and pleasantness today, does it not?”

“Yes!” Kheira called back. “Water... warm! Knife... I mean, nice!” She shook her head, blushing intensely. “Have forgive. Me Fódlish not good yet.”

Petra let out a long, hearty laugh. “You will be learning with time, Kheira. After all, you and I now are having two coaches of much capability.”

Manuela smiled. “I think this new era of siren-human relations is going to start off just... swimmingly!” She flicked her tail to accentuate her pun.

Petra and Dorothea both laughed more than they felt they ought to have—not because of the dry joke, but because of each other’s presence. Here they both were, surrounded by friends and happiness. All that had been lost was found. Before them, a new day was dawning, and its promises were as boundless as the deep blue sea.

**Author's Note:**

> MANUELA DESERVES TO BE HAPPY TOO OK SHE'S A WONDERFUL WOMAN


End file.
